


Echo of a Wound

by Gileonnen



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts and Their Guardians, Learning from One's Mistakes, Shared Grief, Unexpected Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/pseuds/Gileonnen
Summary: After Sagira's death, an enemy from his past finds Osiris again--to make peace and an unusual offer.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	Echo of a Wound

The Ghost finds Osiris in a dark corner of the Bazaar, sheltered from the glow of the cheerful string lights or the warmth of the ramen shop. His eyes are focused on a projection of Vex cubes, shifting and realigning over the palm of his hand, but even the Ghost can see that his mind is elsewhere. Hunting Hive through the tunnels of the moon, perhaps. Taking wing over the lost surface of Mercury.

Watching his Ghost burst into an aegis of Light, again and again and again.

The Ghost has seen Osiris in the full radiance of his Light only once before, but he has never forgotten it: the Traveler's touch upon him, white and incandescent, pouring Light into him as though he was a crucible. On this day, though, Osiris's connection to the Traveler is no more than a thin, shining thread. The Ghost doubts he would be able to conjure the smallest flame in his palm, or open a rift for a fraction of a second.

Once, he would have come to mock Osiris in his weakness. When the loss of Reich was still fresh, when the shame of being sent back to the Traveler with his metaphorical tail between his legs was still hot beneath his shell, he would have gloried in the chance to see Osiris laid low.

It has been many lifetimes since those days. The age of the Warlords has given way to the Iron Lords, and then at last to the Consensus. The City has risen at the Traveler's feet, then been laid low in Six Fronts, Twilight Gap, Bannerfall, the Red War. After each battle, the City has risen once more from its ashes. The old Golden Age colonies have been recovered on Mars and Io and Titan, and been lost again to the Darkness. Once, the Ghost would have thought them lost forever, but the City Age has taught him both hope and patience. He may one day see Io's ancient forests again, crowding the crater where the Traveler first touched down.

There has never been another Reich, although the Ghost has spent the centuries searching. He has scanned the dead on a dozen dead worlds, and found no one whom he would raise immortal with a blade in her hand.

 _Some of us make choices we shouldn't_ , Sagira had said. _Some of us are scared._

She had been right.

"You've been watching for some time, Ghost," says Osiris, and the Ghost spins his points in alarm at being caught. "If you've come to speak to me, then speak."

"Hello!" the Ghost manages to squeak out. "I, um. Don't know if you remember me."

"I've lived a long time, and met many Ghosts," Osiris answers. "Forgive me; I do not remember your voice. Do you have a Guardian?"

"When we met, you were called the Risen. Or Lightbearers," the Ghost answers. He watches Osiris's eyes go wide, then narrow in recognition.

"Warlord Reich's Ghost," says Osiris, low and intent. "So you survived the Dark Ages."

"I did. I never got to thank you and Sagira for what you did for me, on the day we met. For not killing me. Giving me another chance." But that's not right, or not exactly right. "I ... didn't want to thank you, for a long time. And after that, it felt like so long ago. Water under the bridge, you know? No reason to bring all that back up. But then I heard what happened to Sagira, and--I'm sorry. She was ... she was really good."

"She was," says Osiris. He closes his hand on the cubes, and they vanish into data. "Did you never find another Guardian?"

"No." The Ghost stretches his points wide, then closes them in again like a sigh. "A few times, I thought I might have found someone. Their signatures felt right to me, like noise coalescing into signal. But every time, I waited, and the signal scattered into noise again. I think I was just excited to find someone to raise. I'd been alone for so long. I didn't want to be alone anymore."

Osiris leans against the rail of his little alcove, with the Traveler at his back. It lines his feathered ruff in silver, and for a moment, the Ghost can see that deep current of Light pouring over and through him. "It is lonely, to be only half of a whole," says Osiris gruffly. "For what it's worth, I am sorry to have done that to you."

"It needed to be done. I understand that, now." The Ghost hesitates, then says, "Thank you for giving me another chance."

Osiris dips his head. "And thank you for your sympathies."

The Ghost bobs in the air, letting the silence grow between them. It should be awkward or uncomfortable, but it isn't, somehow; they've spoken their piece to one another, and now, at long last, nothing remains unsaid. The clouds shift from golden to sunset pink, and across the City, lights twinkle like a million tiny stars. A cool breeze tugs at the awnings and makes the string lights dance across the Bazaar.

"Osiris," says the Ghost, into their shared quiet. "I don't know how to ask this. I've never had to do it with a living person before. But--may I scan you?"

Beneath his mask, Osiris's lips twitch. It might be a smile. "Be my guest."

The Ghost turns to face Osiris, and he opens his senses. He absorbs Osiris's vital signs in the first pulse of data--the beat of his heart, the structure of his bones, the steady rhythm of his breath. The way his body runs hot even when he's in perfect health. A deeper delve takes in the surface shape of Osiris's thoughts: curiosity. Rage like a banked fire. Hope, trembling like a leaf caught in a spider's web.

Deeper still, into Osiris's pride, his strength, his inflexible will. Anxiety gnawing at him from the inside, hungry and insistent. The fierce love he carries close to his breast. The grief that marks him like a wound.

The gossamer thread that links him to the Traveler, thin as smoke but so bright that it's nearly blinding.

Osiris doesn't feel _right_ the way Reich had--that thrill like love at first sight. But he feels clear, and deep, like a lake that not even the wind has touched. The Ghost can see through him, right to the bottom of his soul, and there is nothing within him that the Ghost could not learn to love.

The Ghost realizes that he is resting in Osiris's cupped hands, and wonders whether he has been scanned as deeply, and seen as clearly. "I know I can never replace Sagira," the Ghost says. "I'm not asking to take her place. But if you'll have me ... I would like to try to be your Ghost."

Osiris traces his thumb along one of the points of the Ghost's shell. "You may be making a mistake," he says. "I have no cause but vengeance now. If you aren't careful, it may consume you, as it consumed Sagira."

"I've made mistakes before. Sagira taught me that I could learn from them. And I'm as eager as you are to avenge her."

With a faint laugh, Osiris concedes, "I suppose that's true. Then will you join my hunt, Little Light?"

The Ghost reaches out to Osiris with the Light at his core--then through him, toward the great beacon that is the Traveler. Something catches. Every lamp seems too bright; every electric wire sings with possibility. For the first time in centuries, relief washes over the Ghost as the Traveler's Light cascades through him.

It isn't perfect--but there is promise in it.

When the link is complete, Osiris's eyes shine golden. He holds up a hand, watching as flame blossoms in the hollow of his palm. The joy of that flame flows through their bond, urgent as a pulse, and the Ghost feels it as though it were his own. "My new friend," Osiris says, his voice hushed and reverent. "We will need to find you a name."


End file.
